


Pale

by SoDoRoses (FairyChess)



Series: LAOFT Extras [112]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Gen, brief but relevant self-harm, child in minor danger, no happy ending but We Know eventually there is, technically white is stalking the wallers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:55:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25527049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FairyChess/pseuds/SoDoRoses
Summary: What do you do, when you can do nothing?You live – whether you like it or not.
Relationships: Morality Patton Sanders & White (OFC)
Series: LAOFT Extras [112]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1365505
Comments: 21
Kudos: 311





	Pale

**Author's Note:**

> takes place in the middle of _they shall have stars at elbow and foot_ \- after Patton receives the gift, but before he goes to school
> 
> For the prompt:
> 
> "Hey babe! So I’m an angst gremlin, and I’m obsessed with the first year extra “Stop”!!!!!! I reread it the other day, and I wondered, what was that scene like when White first discovered that Patton was repressing his emotions??? Methinks we have quite the angst-portunity there 👀👀" ( from @backatthebein on tumblr)
> 
> i dont think this was what you were getting at but its where the muse went and boy howdy it went hard
> 
> thank you to @trivia-goddess for beta-reading and s always being the first person to agree to being subjected to The Sads

White kept herself still and silent as fog, crouched low in the bush. One wouldn’t think she could hide, her fur as stark as snow, but White had learned young how to be so still she became invisible even when she glittered.

She preferred not to watch her Matty and Patton on two legs. That form was just as much her, but it was slower and too large to hide properly. It was much easier to be quick and silent on three good paws than on only one good leg, and White’s decades-old cursed wound never really stopped aching.

Matty and Michelle never let Patton stray too far, which was good. It was much easier to keep track of them when they were close, and White had already been gone so long, weak and barely conscious from the gift she’d given Patton.

She’d hidden in her den, licked her wounds in the dark. Not quite a year, but nearly.

She hadn’t expected to be caught so soon after.

White knew what it meant to be _prey_ , and when she’d stepped out of her den, barely strong enough to stand, and laid eyes on the king’s knight, she’d known it was over.

But it hadn’t been – it was so much worse.

If she had died, it would be a tragedy that Patton would grow up with no one to teach him, but an unavoidable one. But this, to live, and watch, and know she could do nothing, was just as cruel.

White wondered if the king knew that, but she suspected he did not.

The shadows of the evening grew long, and Michelle scooped Patton up into her arms, carrying him into the house. When Matty followed her in and shut the door, White moved. Crossing the lawn, she kept low, leaping from the ground to the trash can to the porch and up and up until she reached the lower roof and could settle in her usual spot, just beside Patton’s window. Unfolding into her upright form, she leaned back against the wooden boards, and listened.

 _The Velveteen Rabbit._ White liked this one. It was Patton’s favorite, and he asked for it more than any other book.

“Nursery magic” seemed carelessly oversimplified to her, of course, but anything that gave Patton more courage was good. He was so much stronger and braver when he had many things to love and dote on, and if it must be stuffed toys then White could not find fault with it.

The story finished, and White heard Michelle kiss Patton, and then her footsteps trailing away. The light flicked off, and the door shut.

White sat still. She listened to Patton’s breathing, not yet steady in sleep, but almost. She heard him shuffle in his covers, tossing and turning. Her palms itched.

She could soothe him, if she went in. Brush her fingers across his temple and hum him into a dreamless sleep. It was simple magic, a parlor trick. Nothing like the gift – she might not even need to sleep afterward.

White did not move.

Patton continued to roll for seven minutes and forty-two seconds, before she heard him throw back the covers.

But there was no opening of the door. Instead, she listened as his sock-clad feet padded across his room to his toy chest, opening it quietly. Toys clicked as he set them on the hardwood floor, and once – White assumed - he had what he deemed enough to play, he began to speak quietly.

White smiled. Fae children were not incapable of pretending, but it came with obvious limitations – White had never found it appealing. But Patton, her little mortal godson, and his make-believe, were precious. Their very own kind of magic, that had nothing to do with her and everything to do with Patton alone. Matty had been too old for such games by the time White met him, but White could just imagine he would have been just as sweet.

White heard him stand – maybe to get another toy from the chest, or perhaps one of his stuffed animals. But there was a soft, barely audible _thump_ – a sharp _crack,_ and sudden whimper that snapped White into full wakefulness like she’d heard a horn on the horizon.

Another whimper, and White’s fingernails dug into her leg. Patton was hurt. He’d fallen, probably, hit his head or some other fragile, mortal body part on the metal frame of his bed that made White shudder just thinking about it.

Matty and Michelle’s bedroom was on the opposite side but White could climb over, wake them up with some small noises at their window until they heard Patton crying. If they hadn’t already – he was whimpering quietly, sniffing. He must be trying to stifle them, but he wasn’t successful.

So small. So _young._ White could hardly bear his tears, but she could rouse his parents even if she could not comfort him herself.

Patton sniffed again, and spoke.

“ _Don’t cry,”_

For one heart-stopping moment, White thought Patton was speaking to her. That he’d seen her through the window and tried to soothe _her,_ seen her distress at his upset. She felt the feeble nudge of his voice behind her eyes, but it was too weak to do anything.

And more importantly, Patton was _not_ speaking to her.

“C’mon, don’t cry,” he repeated, already sounding calmer, and bile was rising in White’s throat.

“S’just a scratch,” he muttered, “Don’t cry,”

And then she heard him sit on the floor, and begin to play again.

White felt like all the breath had been stolen from her lungs. He’d done it so calmly, so deliberately – simply wiped away his own distress like it was inconsequential. How many times had he done it, and White not known, that he didn’t even hesitate?

Her ears were ringing.

Patton. Patton was so small. He was a child – to cut off his feelings, to practically _strangle_ them, when he could barely yet understand them, would do nearly irreparable damage. They would fester like untended wounds, thrive in the darkness he pushed them down into until they were unbearable.

He could not do this again.

White’s hand was halfway to the window sill before she caught herself.

White could not speak to the Wallers - Patton could not compel himself again, ever. She had to tell him to stop. She was not permitted to do so.

White dug her nails into her thighs and breathed, silent and shallow.

The king would kill her if he found out, and Patton would have no one to teach him – if the king did not kill the Wallers first to teach her a lesson anyway. Patton had no one to teach him _now_ , and White may die for the next hunt anyway.

She had to tell him, but she could not. She had to _stop_ him, but she _could not._

Her nails bit into her skin harder, and White listened to Patton play, oblivious to her presence, oblivious to his own pain, as if she hadn’t heard the impact, as if she couldn’t smell the faint, metallic burn of human blood that he was _ignoring,_ as if her heart wasn’t _breaking_ for him.

But Patton didn’t know she was there. Would never know, that White sat at his window, and listened to him hurt himself, and did nothing.

Patton hummed, all artificial brightness and graceless magic, and White’s shoulders shook violently, one silent sob strangled before it ever left her body.

White knew how to be quiet. How to be so still and soft she faded into the air itself, until no one ever knew she was there.

_What a pair we are, sweet Patton._

Soon, when she could bear to leave him, she would climb to Matty’s window and wake him and his wife, keep them awake with small, easily dismissable racket until they heard Patton and came to put him to bed. She hoped that they would see the wounds, and tend them.

When she could bear it. When she could move. When the crushing weight of her grief did not feel like the trap, again, in her lungs and around her chest, aching like her leg always did.

_Forgive me my cowardice._

Patton did not answer – and that…

Well. White supposed that was exactly what she deserved.

**Author's Note:**

> you can also find me on [tumblr](tulipscomeinsllasortsofcolors.tumblr.com) and [discord!](https://discord.gg/A3XMAM3)


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